


Catching Up

by saisei



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Cooking, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-13
Updated: 2017-12-13
Packaged: 2019-02-14 08:00:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13003335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saisei/pseuds/saisei
Summary: Planning dinner: never easy when there's Cup Noodle available. (Ignis Fluff Week Day 3: Ignis' favorite meal)





	Catching Up

"Ew," Noct says when Ignis begins unpacking the groceries. He prods the Lucian tomatoes with a finger, suspiciously at first and then with malicious intent. Ignis moves them quickly out of his reach. Honestly, sometimes it's like owning a finicky cat. "Don't tell me those are dinner."

"An ingredient for it, yes." 

Noct makes a disgusted noise. "There's still Cup Noodle. Hey, Gladio."

From behind the tent, Gladio grunts in response, barely audible over the whacking of pegs.

"Do you want Cup Noodle for dinner? We have black-pepper crab _and_ seafood curry."

Gladio's head pops up over the half-erected tent, hair disheveled and a fanatic gleam in his eyes. "Do I get one of each? Seeing as how I'm doing your share of the work, here."

"I'm helping Ignis," Noct says defensively, and holds up an onion as if in demonstration of... something.

"'Helping'," Ignis scoffs quietly, but Noct ignores him in favor of arguing flavors with Gladio. After a moment, Ignis sighs and sets the day's shopping aside. If he stores the meat carefully, perhaps it won't spoil before the tomatoes do.

They'll need water, of course, if noodles are to be the main dish, so he collects the buckets and heads down to the stream. They've found that it's best to avoid leaving safety after dark; if they hope to bathe tonight – and he really hopes that's so – he'll need to make several round trips. Due to a lack of buckets, many hands don't make the work lighter, but he'd hardly call it exertion. It's pleasant to take a nice little stroll and not get attacked along the way; he appreciates the birdsong and the scenery, the solitude and so on.

When he returns, the others are standing around the cook-station, Prompto with his arms crossed and rocking on his heels and Noct looking chagrined. Gladio has his hunting knife out and the poor tomatoes lined up like victims facing down an executioner.

"I was planning on saving those for tomorrow," Ignis says lightly, setting the buckets down while trying to assess the situation.

"Prompto says you were going to make your favorite dinner," Noct accuses. He gestures toward the tomatoes and the meat still wrapped in butcher's paper. "I didn't know you had a favorite."

"Everyone has favorites," Ignis says dismissively. Had Noct asked, he would have told him; however, his personal preferences are hardly relevant to anything. "Where food is concerned, however, I've always said – "

"One should have neither likes nor dislikes," Noct quotes. It's hardly a unique or unusual phrase, usually uttered by schoolteachers before school lunches are served. Noct, however, has never taken it to heart.

"Precisely."

"Which is why you don't care if we have noodles for dinner." Ignis hesitates to answer: he's certain the question is a trap. The moment goes just a bit too long, and Noct nods decisively. "Right. Gladio, start chopping."

"Wait," Ignis says, sharply. "There's a recipe that needs to be followed."

"Lay it on us, man," Prompto says, spreading his arms.

The rest of the preparations for dinner pass like that, a surreal difference from the familiar. In the midst of instructing Gladio how to spice the breadcrumbs subtly (he tended to be heavy-handed), he realizes he's been conned into teaching all three of them how to prepare his favorite dish. The revelation is so startling that he says it out loud, to which Prompto just shrugs.

"You know what our favorites are," he says, as if that's an explanation in itself. "Plus, this way we won't be screwed on your birthday." He rounds on Noct. "Tell me you know when the Igster's birthday is."

"Of course I do," Noct says. _Of course you don't,_ Ignis thinks – after all, he's never seen the need to include it on Noct's schedule. "It's a week before Ifritine's Day."

Ignis' cheeks heat, and he checks the oven temperature reflexively. "I think we're ready to start cooking," he says, reaching for the oil. "You should probably stay out of my way."

"Nah," Gladio says, shifting into his immobile stance. "You're not getting rid of us that easy. Hand over the ladle."

"Spatula," Ignis corrects, but for some reason he does step aside. It's rather pleasant to be cooked for, provided nothing burns. He's reminded of his long-gone home and family: they'd be glad, he thinks, that he has not only a purpose but also friends like these at his side in battle and with him when facing down sun-ripened vegetables.

"I'll take over," he tells Noct, who's gamely trying to chop the tomatoes while not touching the skins. "Why don't you and Prompto set out the chairs and fetch the dishes and cutlery?"

"You got it, Specs," Noct says, wiping his hands off on his trousers. And then, as if curiosity got the best of him, he asks with faux nonchalance, "Do you have a favorite vegetable?"

Well. "It just so happens that I do," Ignis says, and lets Noct stew in frustration for a moment before telling him.


End file.
